Tag: fear

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Treading Water

Haven’t posted in a while, … life, man. Go along smoothly for a time then some new crisis will hit. Just the way it is.

I was feeling like a such a rock star/warrior queen for all of the hard work I’ve done on myself, I thought I was so strong… And I am proud of what I’ve accomplished, that’s true. Not haughty proud but Hey I Did Good proud, the positive kind of pride. Confident. Walking tall.

Truth is though (and this has come back to me like a hard slab of granite to the face this past week) I am a pile of Jello. I’m a softie. I’m not strong. I’m mush. Mashed potatoes. I am (or at least can be) just as sensitive as I have always been, like I was as a kid, before all of life happened and I built walls and tore some of them back down and did all of this inner work. There’s still a creamy gooey center in this chocolate truffle (why am I talking food metaphors? It’s making me hungry) and I was truly unhappy to realize it. Part of me wanted to harden, to be that pillar, that concrete that can withstand all of life’s hurricanes.

I am not there.

When a close loved one is hurt, apparently, I turn into liquid goo. I flash right back to a scared child all over again. It’s been a rough week. Usually, in a crisis, I am a rock, I am the one that stays calm and directs others what to do. Not this time. Too close to home. It cracked something wide open in me. Maybe I needed crackin’.

I felt like as a child growing up, crying was wrong and bad and taboo (and in my earliest years I did a lot of it, my poor folks) but I learned that it was not acceptable behavior. People don’t like (especially back in those days) big displays of emotion. We’re to keep it all stuffed down, keep it locked inside, suck it up buttercup, get over it. I learned that well for a while.

Then I learned (here and now in our modern world) that we must have an outlet for pain. Crying can be good, healing, cathartic. I know people who cry on the daily and there was a time I would’ve thought that weak. I now admire it. I’m jealous, kinda. Keeping pain inside is no bueno. It doesn’t work. Not for anyone. So, I’m learning to cry again, and without guilt or shame. There are certainly things worth crying over. Most certainly. And I admit to feeling better afterwards.

I’m just gonna keep on swimming, swimming, swimming, and when I can’t do that, tread water. Keeping my head up. I might be crying a river at the same time, but I’m keeping my head up.

Anyone need a good cry with me? I have at least one dry shoulder.

Be well, my peeps. Peace Out.

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Blog from the Belly of the Beast

“If the world was ending you’d come over, right?” sings Julia Michaels. The song has deeper meaning than ever. I don’t personally believe the world is ending but it most definitely is changing. Mother Earth is catching a break and a breath in the middle of all of this.

I believe  that God or Spirit or the Universe (whatever you choose to call it) tries to speak to us. We’re continually being stretched, there are lessons we are supposed to learn. For a while I’ve been banging the drum about walking away from dogma, from man-made boxes and labels. The most glaring examples are found in religion and politics. You MUST pick a box, we are told, then sign your life away to everything that box stands for. Everyone outside this box and those in other boxes are the enemy. We must stay away, lest we “catch” what they have. And ultimately, name-calling, villifying, and eventually murder and war. What little predictable ants we are.

I will never go back to that way of thinking. I get called all sorts of things, and sometimes on social media, I feel as though I look behind me as I run and I am being chased by throngs of people carrying labels and boxes. They fling them at me. “Liberal! Socialist! Hippie! Right-wing nut-job!” All depending on what I’ve said that has set them off.

I used to (and sometimes still) try to explain my mindset to others, but it always, every time, leads to the labeling and name-calling, judging, writing me off. There are a precious few who seem to love me in spite of who I am, not sure anyone loves me for exactly who I am. Maybe God and my hubs. Maybe a precious few. So for this “hippie” who has learned many tough lessons on how to be fiercely independent and deal with being, at times, all alone with myself and my thoughts, it’s just one more thing. One more thing that labels me “different”.

This pandemic is forcing others to sit still, to think, to ponder, maybe go inside and ponder deeper things (which is what I spend most of my time doing.) Fear becomes a monstrous beast, and even those claiming to be the most faithful are running scared. Hoarding. Taking care of “Number One” and not thinking about the needs of others. If you do voice concern for others, out come those label-makers… Look out!

We have the people who are doomsday preppers, totally in their element right now, driven by the beast of fear. Many in denial, can’t possibly be true, can’t possibly affect ME, can’t be happening, I’ll ignore it and it’ll go away. Then there are the young or just plain frightened, the broken, completely confused, curled up in a fetal position, waiting for the next shoe or belt to fall. They’ve always believed the world a harsh and scarey place and this latest madness only confirms it.

I’ve seen them, though. The calm, the peaceful, the ones who see what’s happening full well, and rise to the occasion. Those who reach out, no matter the cost. If I have to shelter at this time in a box, I’ll move in with these people. They’re out there helping people online, or working as nurses or doctors. Driving across the country or filling shelves for us. Checking out groceries when they’d rather be anywhere else. They write things about how to calm ourselves, give Yoga and meditation lessons, art lessons, do live online meet-ups so we can still find some way to huddle together. They’re not being positive because they’re in denial, they see the bigger picture. That people need people right now. They need the voices of calm reason and hope and love. I’ll be in that number, I’ll be a helper in any way I can.

As soon as I realized that going about my business could mean that I was spreading the virus, even if I had no symptoms, I began to re-organize my life. I learned the phrase “Flatten the Curve” and I know that the faster we isolate ourselves, the faster we will all be over this. Other countries have been overwhelmed and doctors have had to sit and watch patients die because their resources were stretched too thin.

It’s a surreal time to be alive on planet earth.

But there have been many such times in history, times of crisis. Times when those around you get to see who you really are. Each morning we choose fear or hope. We choose who and what we will be, not just for ourselves but to the world at large.

And finally, here are some Introverting tips from a Pro:

* Make lists. Chore lists, and fun stuff lists.

*Read. You no longer have an excuse not to.

*Stretch, Meditate and/or pray, exercise

*If you can get sun while isolating, do so. It helps everything.

*Grab some paper and write or draw or journal. It can be very helpful to put pen in hand and just let it rip. Intuitively creating is at its best when you’re alone.

*Listen to your favorite music. (Dance. Yes, dance.)

*Netflix and chill (or whatever you have to watch.)

*One Day at a Time (Don’t get caught up in what-ifs and tomorrows, take care of right now, today.)

*Choose Love. Choose Hope. (Oh and please, put away the label-maker.)

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Wonder or Fear

Sometimes in the midst of the most mundane of things, I will become overwhelmed with a feeling of gratitude. Today it happened while doing laundry. I am struck with a sense of blessing. Many don’t have what I have, do not enjoy even my own level of health and well-being. I can become caught up sometimes in the day-to-day of my own issues and forget that, in the grand scheme of things, I really don’t have it too bad.

I’ve been watching a Netflix program about the world’s most extraordinary homes, and they have been—each one—so beautifully original, unique… they each have their own personality, each visually stunning, but in most cases, it is the homes that manage to insert themselves into the majesty of nature around them, that are the most breath-taking. I am, like many people of the artistic “bent,” a very visually stimulated person. I’ve found myself so inspired by seeing these images of nature, of our world, the oceans, trees, greenery… no matter how good an artist you are, there are some things you just cannot compete with, you just can’t touch.

As a chronic “deep thinker” I think a lot about this life, this planet, why we are here. Hubby and I had a huge talk about it all just yesterday while on the way home from an outing. I’m as obsessed as any poet and philosopher has ever been, when it comes to thinking through the deepest of questions about our existence. I told him that, there are a few (very few) conclusions I’ve come to about this life. One is that we are undoubtedly here to learn lessons. I know this, because I have experienced that I will hit the same wall, round the same mountain, a hundred times, until I have learned what I am meant to learn. There are many instances of this in my life. Once I “get it” I am allowed to move on to new and different lessons.

I believe we are here to experience humanity, experience life in these “skins” on this planet, for some unknown purpose, (perhaps for our own betterment).

I’ve come to believe that there is very little that I know beyond all reasonable doubt, so when I come to any epiphany, it is so powerful to me. But for the first time ever, I’m okay with the “not knowing.” This recent mountain I’ve trekked around has taught me that it is okay NOT to have everything all figured out. I’d even go so far as to say that acting as though, or thinking that you DO, is hubris at its worst.

It’s such a human trait to try and figure everything out, and we’ve done it to such a degree that we have killed all of the wonder and majesty, all of the mystery, in the unknowing and unknowable. It’s a hard thing to just accept that there are some things I will never know for certain.

I think hope and faith dwell there, though, in the unknown, the uncertain. All sorts of wonderful things dwell there. Wonder. The wonder and awe of a small child seeing the ocean for the first time; trying to grasp the ungraspable. Humans try to “think” all the wonder away. I’ve found it is something I want, even need, to hold on to. I’m not a person who can live well or peacefully without hope, faith, wonder, magic, fantasy… the unknown. My soul actually craves it, and gets excited at its prospect. Maybe that’s why I enjoy fiction so much… the world of the unknown and unknowable.

Anyway, today, I feel extraordinarily grateful for life on this gorgeous blue marble. For whatever purpose I, or we, were created. I will live it gratefully and in awe and wonder, I will continue to walk the path, learn the lessons, trek around those mountains. And I will hold on to the unknown with awe instead of fear.

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Childhood Memories/The Leap

I remember being a young child, maybe nine or ten,

and I was at some sleep away camp, and there was this lake for swimming.

We all ran down to this cliff-like area,

and the kids all started diving and jumping off this cliff,

that probably wasn’t nearly as terrifyingly far away,

as steep a fall, as I remember it being.

It seemed a thousand-foot drop to me,

in my memory it was miles long, I was terrified.

Many of the kids were older and bigger than me,

and certainly more well-seasoned in life,

and likely every single one a better swimmer than me.

Which isn’t saying much.

One by one they ran up to the edge, and kids in the lake

and on the cliff were all shouting as they each, in turn, jumped.

The line moved, pushing me along and before I knew it,

My turn was up. I was there, standing on the edge.

Everyone shouted, people behind me,

anxious and excited for their turn,

and those down in the water. All looking, all shouting.

All eyes on me.

I heard someone say, “Come on, everyone is doing it,

there’s nothing to be afraid of!

It’s fun! Just jump!”

So, I took a deep breath (which I had time to release,

then take again on the way down).

So, so far down.

I saw the water coming closer and closer to me

and made it a point to gasp in a lungful of breath

just before hitting the water.

The impact knocked the air out of me

and I just went down and down.

I wanted to gulp in air, but there was nothing but water,

endless water.

Finally, I stopped going down and began to rise.

I kicked and crawled and kicked some more,

trying my best to keep panic at bay.

“Everyone’s doing it! It’s fun!”

But it was all pure panic

and anxiety to me.

Finally, my head broke the water

and I shot up, gasping for air,

amazed that I was still alive. I coughed,

I choked, then began to make my way over to the ladder.

I dog-paddled to the ladder to climb back up, and this ladder was so

Intensely straight up and tall and it felt like

Trying to climb all the way to heaven.

But I remember for one fleeting second, when my head broke the water,

there was this voice.

It said, “You did it! You did something you were scared to do,

something you’ve never done before.”

It was so fleeting, and so buried over with sheer panic

and deep breaths. But it was there.

Later, and at many times throughout my life, I’ve thought,

“What the hell was I thinking?! That was too steep,

too far for someone like me

with my very limited swimming skill.”

If it hadn’t been for being swept up with the crowd,

If anyone, any one at all, had bothered to ask me

If I wanted to jump

I’d have said, “No way, I don’t swim very well.”

I would never have been interested in doing it.

But I’d been swept away in the moment.

I hadn’t been given the chance to really think it through.

I remember this moment so frequently.

I remember, I did it, and I didn’t die.

It was one of the scariest moments of my childhood, and

I did it. If I’d thought about it, at all,

I never, ever would’ve made the leap.

I over-think. Always. It’s in my DNA.

But oh, that feeling.

Coming up out of the water. Cheers and applause.

I jumped. I did it.

I didn’t die.

I try and remind myself, sometimes I need to stop over-thinking,

and just take that damned step.

Leap.